Flying Scotsman - Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose

The chalk board outside the pub in the next village have flagged up their “Fresh Whitby Cod” for as long as I can remember, in spite of the fact that we couldn’t be any further from the sea. I visualise a regular special consignment – an express fish van with a police escort and flashing lights. Perhaps they temporarily close some roads, so as not to slow it down on its dash from North Sea to table in rural Nottinghamshire. Last week the notice was scrubbed out and replaced with an updated sales pitch, “New Menu. Whitby Cod.”

The more things change, the more they stay the same. That might equally apply to my planned activity for today. I am on my way to one of my favourite locations in a changing world, Sleaford Road bridge over the East Coast Main Line on the outskirts of Newark. This is the most convenient viewpoint I can reach from home and I have been here many times over recent years to witness the passing of steam hauled trains on this old racing ground.

Today is extra special. Today it’s the turn of the Flying Scotsman. The A3s felt completely at home here from the 20’s to the 60’s and though I was over the hills and far away at the time, I got across to see some of them, including this one, before they had almost all disappeared. For 50 years now, she has been the sole remaining member of her class and after her well documented recent problems she is with us once again. Virtually rebuilt, she is still essentially the Flying Scotsman, the railwaymen’s own definition being the permanence of her frames.  

Radio 5 has just broadcast a warning to onlookers not to trespass on the railway because its already leading to delays on the network. There is more traffic than usual at the bottleneck on the A46 at the entrance to Newark and I quickly park up with 15 minutes to spare. There are literally hundreds of people here rather than the usual 20 or so. The word is that she is late - 15 minutes, then 22 minutes. A class of kids from a first school turn up, filing in, two abreast behind their teacher. They just keep coming. It must be whole school full. The really naughty ones have to wear high-vis jackets.

I climb onto a roadside metal barrier so I can see over all the heads and I get a good view of the road, as well. Some motorists are clearly bemused, others smile, one or two beep their support. Only a few ignore the crowd completely. Orange-clad construction workers in hard hats have perched themselves on upper sections of their JCBs, which they have moved up to the railings on a nearby site. Three youngsters in an old banger with the window wide open yell insults and then are immediately held up at the traffic lights. They may now be reconsidering their choice of expletives.

Northbound, a Class 91 passes at 10.40, followed by another at 10.43 and a third at 10.50, held up no doubt by the over-enthusiastic spectators mentioned on the radio bulletin. Some of the children cheer the 91 and I wonder if they have been properly briefed. At 10.59 a 5 car unit for Hull goes through and then, at last, at 11.04, the Scotsman appears. Her headlight is a powerful beam, even on a very bright day. White steam and smoke stand out against the blue and cloudless sky. The sunlight gleams off her newly painted boiler. A ripple of applause is answered by a thin whistle from the A3. There are waves from the passengers and then she is gone. The helicopter and the three light aircraft that have been buzzing around disperse, as do the crowds. Amidst the smiles, the excited chatter and the checking of images on cameras, the crocodile of schoolchildren resumes its shape, as, at 11.09, a passing HST indicates that the railway is straight away back to normal.      

I make my way back home. The Scotsman has returned to the NRM at York and Whitby cod is still on the menu. Some things may change, but the affection the people of this country have for their railways shows every sign of continuing. It is an engrained part of our history and culture. It helps to define who we are.